Drabble Quotes for Narnia
by Wildhorses1492
Summary: Sometimes random quotes fit Chronicles of Narnia so well. I thought to pair some of the ones I've found with Narnia. Please do tell me what you think, as they are certainly better than this inadequate summary gives them credit for. Status "complete" but will still add chapters.
1. Play

"_**We don't quit playing because we grow old; we grow old because we quit playing."**_

She always wanted to grow up; she thought that her siblings were immature because they never stopped talking about their play world, Narnia. She thought that to grow up, one had to forsake all those childish things like going to the park and reading fairy stories and talking about mythical lands.

She didn't know the secret to growing up, truly growing up, is that to grow the right way, one had to treasure all those lovely memories, remember them for the grey, sad, lonely days when you couldn't do them anymore or when life tried to press its strife and burdensome cares upon you.

She was confused because everyone else seemed to have this vibrancy about them, this aura, while she had nothing. There were times when she felt that even her parents unknowingly joined in the "Narnia Game" as she called this time when her siblings and cousin, his friend and the Professor all talked about their silly make-believe world.

She asked the professor one evening, when he was going out the door, why he kept encouraging her family. He replied with a bit of wisdom that confused her;

"We don't quit playing because we grow old; we grow old because we quit playing. You see my dear, when we stop believing, something inside us dies, something good. To keep "playing" as you call it, keeps that little flame alive." He smiled, doffed his hat to her, and trotted down the steps and out the gate, whistling a merry tune as he went.

She never understood what he meant until they weren't there to ask about it. When the grave marker asked what should be inscribed on the old professor's stone, as she was the sole survivor of the Pevensie family, and everything was left to her by Kirke, she told the man;

"We don't quit playing because we grow old; we grow old because we quit playing."

She finally understood.

* * *

**Quote drabbles I thought up while I was sitting staring at the cursor on my Microsoft word. I'll take suggestions for Drabble quotes if you know any that you would like. I am open to suggestions. Tell me what you think!**

**I do not know the speakers of these quotes, but if I do, then I shall put a disclaimer that said person owns the quote, but until then, **I own nothing** ~W.H. **


	2. Wise

"_**A fool tells you what he will do; a boaster what he has done. The wise man does it and says nothing." **_

"I'm gonna march right up to Prince Rabadash one day and say, 'Sire, I've been wanting to tell you this since I first met you six years ago, you're a conceited, stuck-up man, and if you don't change your ways, I'll change you.'." A Terebinthian ambassador stated rather drunkenly, as the wine was getting to his head.

"I've written a letter to the Tisroc, asking him to curb that brat!" One of the Galmanian dignitaries said boastfully.

The dark haired young man at the far and of the table smiled to himself. They were all in better spirits since arriving back in Narnia after that disastrous stay at Tashbaan. Suddenly a valet entered the room, bearing a letter in his hand, with Queen Susan's seal on it.

He grabbed the letter and tore it open, reading it quickly; he jumped up and ran from the room. "Wot's gone into 'im?" the drunk Terebinthian asked, staring around at the other men with bleary eyes.

"Don't know, it's almost as if Aslan himself was chasing him." A soldier said with a drunken laugh.

The next day, late in the evening, a messenger rushed in to the same room from the night before, the men were once again drinking and joking about mundane things. The boy handed a sealed parchment letter to the Galmanian dignitary. Breaking into it, he read for everyone to hear.

"_King Edmund defended Anvard from two hundred horsemen led by Prince Rabadash. With a small army estimated to be about one hundred strong." _He read the rest of the letter, and then set it down on the oak table, stunned.

"Why, he never said that there'd been problems with Calormen. I feel like a boaster now, going on about my letter."

"Aye and I feel like a fool, talking about how I'd show the prince a lesson." The Terebinthian ambassador replied.

"He taught the young man a lesson, _and_ curbed his wild ways quietly, while we just sat here, talking."


	3. Doors

"_**Close some doors. Not because of pride, incapacity, or arrogance, but simply because those doors no longer lead somewhere." **_

She walked up to the wardrobe, she had waited for everyone to fall asleep, because she felt slightly foolish to be doing this when it hadn't worked since, but she felt she had to, at least until they went back home.

"I don't think you'll be able to get in that way anymore, you see, I've already tried." She whirled at the sound of the Professor's voice. He stood from his place in the window and reached over her to close the wooden door.

"Will we ever go back?" She asked the question because, though she had the mind of a grown up, she wanted another's opinion, like she used to ask Edmund's opinion on things when they ruled Narnia together.

"Oh, I expect so, but it will probably happen when you're not looking for it, come on, let's get to bed." Kirke took her hand in a friendly way and led her out of the room. She looked back at the wardrobe, knowing she'd never open that door again, not because of pride or arrogance in the fact that she had been the first to open it and find the world, nor because of incapacity to admit the fact that the world had changed her very much and then she'd fallen out of it a child again, but because that door no longer went somewhere, she had to find the next one.

She knew she could do it.

* * *

**A/N/: I really liked this quote, because it seemed to fit Lucy so well. The wardrobe door was closed, because that part of the adventure was over, and they could never go back, they had to find the next door, and she knew she would. She was right.**


	4. What love sometimes is

"_**Oftentimes we say goodbye to something we love without wanting to. Though that doesn't mean we've stopped loving them, or stopped to care. Sometimes goodbye is just a painful way to say: **_

"_**I love you." **_

People watch the movies, read the books, and think, why didn't they just stay? Why are they leaving? They didn't have to go, they should've stayed! If we could speak to you, we'd tell you that love sometimes means sacrifice, we of all people have learnt that. If we had stayed and lived out our lives in Narnia, could we have come back to save the world every time she needed someone's help?

Even though goodbye is painful, it means we truly love that place, or country, or person, or thing. We sacrifice our selfish desires to be able to help them. So, what we really mean when we say

"Goodbye"

Is

"We love you."

And that is enough.


	5. Size

**_And though she be but little, she is fierce._ ~ William Shakespeare**

* * *

She was always short. And petite. Even on her twenty-first birthday, she was still shorter than all her siblings, and all her subjects, excluding the dwarves, Talking Animals and such. Sometimes it angered her, so many ambassadors or suitors from across the ocean and around Narnia stereotyped her as weak and fragile when they first saw her, because of her short stature.

She loved to prove them wrong. Be it a tournament or a ball, she always managed to show them that their stereotype of her was far from correct. She was fantastic with her daggers, and no man could ever best her at mounted agility courses. She was a warrior and a valiant soldier. Not some pretty, dainty thing to be kept in a tower like some fairytale princess in need of protection.

All her subjects who knew her well, knew this about her. The dwarves loved to fight beside her, not because of her archery skills, nor her leadership abilities, for there were times when she was not the greatest at both, but for her height, and her valiantness, her willingness to give her all for Narnia and Aslan. They knew what it was like to mocked or stereotyped for their height, and they also knew what it meant to valiantly fight for something to the death.

The Talking Animals loved to fight beside her because they knew what it was like to be ignored. They knew what it was like to be treated as less than you are, because of appearances or age. They knew, and they loved her because of her weaknesses and faults. That was how she got the title of valiant. For though she was small, though she was young, she fought as hard as any man or woman twice her height and twice her age.

The heart of a lioness, the courage of a soldier, fiercely protective of her country and her people. She was, and always would be their queen.

Queen Lucy, the Valiant.

_"If you were any braver, you'd be a lioness."_

* * *

**A/N: Well, what do you think? I was going through some old quotes in my stuff and found this I'd written awhile back, I can't remember why I wrote it, but I thought it was nice. It also goes well with Shakespeare's quote. I don't know why, but I always loved the idea of Lucy being rather short. I guess I just always saw her that way when I read the books. ~ W.H. **


	6. Humanity

"_**The purpose of human life is to serve, to show compassion, and the will to help others."**_

* * *

The two young women stared down dismally at the flat whitewall on the navy blue 1936 auto. How were they ever to get to work now? Typists and telephone operators could be easily replaced; there were more than enough woman and men looking for occupations so soon after the war. Heloise picked at her green double-breasted coat; it looked like they would be walking from here.

Molly came and sat beside her, her rather worn black heels making small holes in the soft dirt beside the road. She pulled out her two pearl hatpins, a seventeenth birthday gift from her mother three years ago, and placed her hat in her lap, smiling ruefully at her friend, blondish-red curls pushed back in the puff of air coming off the road.

"I suppose this is the end of poor Hudson," she remarked, turning to look at the car.

"It's just an auto, why do you insist on naming everything?" Heloise murmured, trying to ignore her friends' practical comment.

"I wish we could afford a new one," Molly continued, staring down the road.

"Well we can't, and that's the end of it, we'll just have to walk from here," Heloise declared firmly, coming to her feet.

"Oh look Issie, another auto, perhaps they will help us!" Molly cried happily, jumping up, a new spark of life in her gait.

Two young men proceeded to exit the faded, reddish colored Hudson. One, who appeared to be the younger, called out to them, holding onto the brim of his grey fedora, trying to keep from losing it.

"Could we offer some form of assistance Ladies? You seem to need it," he remarked, smiling graciously as his companion turned their engine off and closed his driver's side door. They took off their coat jackets and put them in the trunk, rolling up their shirt sleeves as they proceeded to check the damage to the other vehicle's tire.

The blonde driver inspected it first, going to his hands and knees to see if the undercarriage had been damaged.

"He'll get his slacks ruined in all this dirt," Molly whispered, watching them. Heloise nodded, and spoke up about it.

"Thank you for your help, but surely you won't consider ruining your clothes trying to help two women replace a tire?" She said, looking at them skeptically.

"Madam, it would not be chivalric of us to leave you women alone on the roadside without trying to offer some sort of assistance," the brunette reasoned, flashing another bright smile.

"Besides what my brother has said, I could not drive past you without feeling guilty in doing so," the blonde said, straightening and loosing his tie as he walked back to the trunk for _their_ own spare.

"Can I help?" Molly asked after a while, looking anxiously on while they managed to get the flat off.

"No, we'll be fine, besides, you will need to keep clean, wherever you're going," The brunette murmured, handing his brother a wrench.

"But so will you!" Heloise countered.

"We're merely going to a dinner party involving friends, they shan't mind our attire, while you ladies look as if you are going to work," the blonde said, rolling the flat to the side of the road.

Heloise bit her lip, these men were far too kind for their own good, though she and Molly did need the help, it felt rude to make them late for their date and on top of it all, they were now getting dirt streaked and smudged.

After a while, they finished, with the brunette giving the tire an experimental kick, before lugging their tools back to the trunk of their Hudson. The brunette walked over to them, running a grease-stained hand through his hair, he smiled kindly at them.

"The tire is old, but barely used, a gift from a friend, since the war has made things like tires scarce. It should last you for a good while," he told them, turning slightly to look back at the car. He started to walk away, his brother having gotten back into the auto and started the engine, slamming his door closed.

"Wait, please, we must know your names!" Heloise shouted, running towards the brunette.

"Oh, sorry about that, I'm Edmund, Edmund Pevensie, and this is my brother, Peter. You don't have to pay us, nor do we expect to have the favor returned, think of the tire as a gesture between friends," Edmund called, opening his door and sliding into the car.

Gravel spit under its tires as Peter put it into drive. Molly and Heloise ran into the road behind them, waving and shout goodbyes and thank-yous.

"Well, weren't they the most gentlemanly young men you've seen in a long while?" Molly asked, turning her head to look at Heloise with a smile.

"Yes, they make you realize there is still hope after all this war."

"That all the kindness has not yet fled the world," Molly commented, interlacing her arm with Heloise's as they walked back to the auto on the side of the road, her hat in hand.

"Indeed," Heloise whispered, staring at the now empty road before sliding into the driver's side of the car and slamming the door.


	7. Freedom

**_"Forgiveness is unlocking the door to set someone free, and realizing you were the prisoner."_**

* * *

All the hate, all the anger, washed away when he was met with the possibility of ending the man's life. He could've done it, he had the power – had the right – to finished Miraz, as he had his father. But, upon being given that sword by Peter, he realized that he did not want to kill him. He did not want to start a new age in Narnia by taking a life.

He had forgiven his uncle that day of the horrid castle raid, though he had not known it then. His uncle felt no guilt for that he had done to try to gain the throne, _he_ was the one carrying the burden of nameless guilt. He had committed no crime, erred in no way that was wickedly unrepentable, so why must he continue to act as if he had? He was the prisoner, not this man kneeling before him.

Death was what Miraz wanted, so that he would be unable to watch all his accusations prove hollow and false. Well, he would not give him the satisfaction, he would keep his life, and his freedom, but the Narnians, they deserved better, whether under his rule or the High King's, he didn't care. As the heir to the throne of Telmar, he would return their kingdom to them.

It was one of many Telmarine sins he had to wash clean.

"Keep your life, but I am giving the Narnians back their kingdom."


	8. Prisoner

**"Love me or hate me, both are in my favor… **

**If you love me, I'll always be in your heart… **

**If you hate me, I'll always be in your mind."**

* * *

He smiled coolly as the man walked around him. He'd been hit, mocked, and beaten so that he didn't care what followed; this daft king would never receive what he wanted. He tilted his head to the side a fraction as he watched the man pace around him slowly, thoughtfully observing him.

When the man stopped before him, he smiled again and stared into the man's flat grey eyes. He'd never understood how someone could have eyes so lifeless, so devoid of emotion. He, too, had fought countless battles, led hundreds of raids, but his eyes were not so cold. Why, then, were his?

"I hope you have enjoyed our hospitality," the king said acrimoniously, once more beginning his mindless circle around where the prisoner stood.

Edmund tilted his head momentarily to look at the vaulted ceiling above him, rolling his eyes slightly before turning to look at the king and spitting his blood at the man's feet. That was not a welcome stay in his mind. Hosts did not beat their guests.

But Telmar had always been a backward country; he was not surprised that their rules of hospitality were also backward. For a moment, King Isshiah stared at the dark red stain on his carpets.

"At least we know you bleed the same color we do," he noted with slightly raised eyebrow, before turning his gaze on Edmund once more. "Tell me where that High King of yours is planning to attack, and I'll let you go free," he bargained.

"Do you honestly believe that I would tell you where he plans to attack this castle? And do you think that I'd believe your lie of setting me free? I am not a child, Isshiah, and I might have reigned and lived fewer years than you, but I am by far the wiser; you cannot deny it!" Edmund raised one shackled hand to brush his unkempt black hair from his eyes.

"You have seen wild horses, have you not, King Edmund?" Isshiah asked casually, walking a few paces away before turning back.

"I have seen many free beasts in my lifetime," Edmund answered.

"Then you know that when they are first captured and brought to the stable they are willful, and refuse to bend to our will; do you not?"

"I bend nothing to my will! That is not the markings of a good king!" Edmund snarled, jerking towards Isshiah. The soldier standing nearby pulled him roughly away from the king by the shackles binding him.

"You know that before long, they are brought into submission, and our will becomes their command; even if it means their death! I have always seen the Narnians as wild animals, not as barbarians. They would be excellent people if taught submission," Isshiah smiled coldly at Edmund.

"Their rulers would benefit from the lesson of breaking wild animals, don't you think?" Isshiah remarked casually, as if oblivious to whom he was speaking.

"Cruel actions and soft words do not loving subjects make," Edmund replied, smiling cynically at the Telmarine king, his dark, bloodied hair falling back into his eyes.

"Would I could kill you now, insolent boy!" Isshiah thundered, turning and raising his hand as if to strike Edmund. But the Just King did not flinch; he stared into the other man's eyes unwaveringly. What was a slap to the face when he had been beaten by the lash?

Slowly, Isshiah withdrew his hand. "Take him back to the dungeon, then we shall see if he still believes his silence will save him." Isshiah gave Edmund one final glance before striding toward the doors at the far end of the throne room.

"Isshiah," Edmund called, causing the king to turn slightly. "Love me or hate me, for both are in my favor. If you love me, I should always be in your heart. But hate me, and I shall be forever in your mind. Remember that before you kill me, for I will haunt you to your grave!" Edmund's voice taunted him, and the king refused to turn back to see the smile he knew would be upon his face.

"Send me a scribe and a runner, the Just King has a letter to send his brother this night," Isshiah told a guard standing near the door. Terms of peace would be struck, or King Edmund would spend his life in the dark; Isshiah would see to it personally.

* * *

**A/N: **

**This is the reason Edmund hates the lash in Shooting Stars. This scene will be in my Golden Age fic when I finish my Cycle. The quote belongs to Shakespeare. **


	9. Kidding p1

**"There's always a little truth behind every**

**"Just kidding,"**

* * *

"And King Edmund was never the same after he'd walked with the Witch," Peter finished the story.

The young Narnians; a group of fauns, dryads, centaur colts and fillies, and talking animals, along with a smattering of human Narnian children, had asked for King Edmund's story, since it was hardly ever told, save by the Just King himself. And when it was, he usually made it so dark, and became so brooding by the end of it, that no one could utter a word.

"I wish you wouldn't say that, because that's not what I did." Edmund was suddenly standing behind Peter's chair, staring down at his brother and the children. He was sometimes so full of humor and vigor, but then there were times like these, when he plunged into darkness and despair, that Peter honestly thought Edmund cut a foreboding figure.

But he was never a bad king; he was always very fair and just. Peter only wished he wouldn't become depressed at odd times, times when it was least expected.

"Well, you know how children love dramatics, and besides, I was just kidding." Peter stared up into his brother's dark gaze with his cheerful blue one.

"Of course," Edmund nodded, before walking off in a swirl of dark fabric. Peter and the children watched him go.

This was one of those times when Peter almost believed that Edmund had walked with a Witch and become permanently scarred by it. He supposed he would never truly know his brother's heart; that right belonged to Aslan alone.

* * *

**A/N: This will be part 1 of a 4 part drabble. **


	10. Knowledge p2

**A little knowledge behind every **

**"I don't know,"**

* * *

"Don't you think Susan's started acting a bit strange since we've come back? I know Aslan told us we won't return, but she has me worried," Peter admitted, running his fingers through his hair as he spoke.

"You don't think it's because of that silly kiss she gave Caspian, do you?" Lucy asked from where she was reading in a window seat, her book forgotten when the concerned discussion about Susan's change in attitude started lengthening.

"I still can't understand why she did that, it's not like her." Peter frowned, paced a few feet, and stopped again; trying to piece the puzzle together in his head.

"Do you have any ideas? You've been rather silent this whole time, Ed," Lucy noted, looking at her brother, who was writing some notes down on paper as he read a book from a stack of law material beside him.

"I don't know, all right? I'm so tired of being asked if I know what has Susan troubled since we've come back from Narnia. Just because we were close in the Golden Age does not mean she confides in me here!" Edmund said defensively.

He wasn't being entirely honest, Susan _had_ told him bits and pieces of what had been on her mind of late, he just couldn't bear to tell his siblings that she wanted to forget Narnia because she didn't like to harbor the idea she could never return to a land she had loved more than her own world.

"It's all right if you don't know, Ed, we weren't asking you to have all the answers like you did in Narnia; and even then we didn't think you had all the answers!" Peter said lightly, trying to calm the troubled waters.

"Look, that was out of line; I've just been having difficulty understanding this. Sorry, Pete, Lucy," Edmund replied with regret lacing his tone. With a thankful sigh, he turned back to the law book; which made perfect sense, it was not bothering him; he was just glad he had put off telling them about Susan for a little while longer.

* * *

**A/N: Part 2.**


	11. Caring p3

**A little emotion behind every**

**"I don't care," **

Susan tightened the earring, hoping the old things would stay on tonight. A gift from Polly at one of their old dinners she used to go to, Susan had always thought the earrings beautiful, but now she was starting to find the age a little bothersome and annoying; especially when she was talking with a handsome man over dinner. Earrings on your plate or falling into someone's drink were not exactly good conversational pieces.

She stood, sliding out from her dressing table with ease. She adjusted her dress, as close to fashionable as she could afford on the small salary she made typing up letters for her brother, a small-time lawyer. She hoped he would grow in prestige, but he refused to do any of the things it took to become a well-known man.

So she took what she could and didn't bother herself about it because she knew she couldn't change his stubborn mind. She took one final look at herself in the mirror, checking to make certain she hadn't applied too much rouge. As she reached for her handbag, her bedroom door opened.

"Susan… Oh, you're going out?" Lucy leaned into the room, and upon noticing that Susan was dressed to leave, let herself in and closed the door part-way behind her.

"Yes," Susan answered, believing that that was all the reply she needed to give.

"Well, we're going to meet Eustace, Jill, Digory, and Polly at the station, Pete sent me up to ask if you wanted to come along?" Lucy asked her wistfully, smiling and raising her eyebrows suggestively, hoping she would say yes.

"I don't care what Peter's doing– what fantasy he's pretending to live in. I'm going out," Susan replied firmly, reaching for her gloves after pinning on her hat.

"You're certain you don't want to help us try to get Eustace and Jill into Narnia?" Lucy tired one last time, turning to watch her sister as the older woman moved towards the bedroom door.

"I don't _care_ about a fairytale land, Lu!" Susan repeated firmly before closing the door.

"Oh, I see," Lucy said softly to the empty room, looking at the dressing table briefly before slowly moving towards the bedroom door herself.

What Lucy did not see were the tears that threatened to fall from Susan's eyes as she walked downstairs and towards the front door; she did not see her sister whisper the names of long-dead Narnians to be certain she could still remember them, and she did not see her sister mouth a quick prayer to Aslan that He would protect them on their adventure– whatever it might be.


	12. Okay p4

**And a little pain behind every**

**"It's okay."**

Lucy stared out across all of the Real and True Narnia, the place she had longed for all her life. Nothing had dampened her yearning, just as Reep had said nothing had his; but now, something was different. She felt a small piece of her was missing, and she believed she knew what it was.

Susan.

She should have been here; with her, Ed, and Pete. It wasn't the same without the Radiant Southern Sun. She missed her sister's graceful, caring nature. If Susan had been here, she would have noticed that something was wrong and come to ask her about it. As it were, the only person to console her had been Tumnus, and there was only so much the faun could say or do.

As Lucy stared out across all of Narnia, music and dancing going on merrily behind her, along with feasting, toasting and all other sorts of merriment, footsteps softly approached. The Valiant queen turned her head only a little, to see who had come to stand near her.

It was Edmund, still a quiet man after all this; she knew he was different, though outwardly he looked the same. He would always belong to the Western Wood, Lucy thought, eyeing his wavy black hair and dark-colored clothes. He and the Wood fit perfectly. Silent, wise, calm, and dignified. As Lucy debated these qualities in her brother, he spoke.

"I give you my deepest sorrow that our beloved sister has not recalled our True Country so she can partake of this glorious life we now live." His voice was low as he placed his hand over hers on the balustrade.

Queen Lucy replied in a way the her former, childish self, might have; because she wanted for just a moment to be the little sister again, with big brothers who would tend to the problems and make them go away.

"It's okay," she whispered.

Edmund glanced at her, shadow covering his brown eyes as his dark hair swept across his forehead. And he said something King Edmund the Just would not have uttered even if had he been standing at sword-point.

"No, it is not."

Lucy looked over to him and let a tear fall down her cheek. He pulled her into his arms and allowed her to shed her tears, his own lightly falling on her crowned head as he embraced her fiercely. He was not blind to the pain behind her words.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I ended this with Edmund because it sort of began with him. Peter wondered if Jadis had made him (I'll place the word "adverse" here) to true emotions and true thoughts. This shows that everything he really felt was hidden because he became more comfortable watching and understanding what was not being told than acting on facial expression. **

**He knew Peter's confusion, he knew Susan's true feelings, and he knew Lucy's pain at Susan not being with them in the end. I don't know, you can make out of it whatever you want. The four-part drabble is now ended.**

**WH **


	13. Greater

**"Someday we will find what we are looking for. **

**Or maybe we won't, maybe we will find something much ****_greater_**** than that."**

* * *

"I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it until now… Come, further up and further in!" And Jewel the Unicorn wheeled away from the group and ran on towards the mountains as fast as he could run.

Peter stared at the view around him, unable to truly comprehend what his eyes were beholding. This was too glorious to be truly real! And yet, he was standing with the greenest grass under his feet, the bluest sky over his head and the warmest, merriest yellow sun at his back he had ever felt in his life.

It was beautiful.

It was indescribable.

It was _home_.

He laughed; he laughed like he had not laughed in an age. It was wonderful to be here once more, the land he loved more than England, the land that would always hold his heart more than anything dusty old earth had to offer. Here he belonged, here he was at peace, knowing that Aslan held them between his paws and nothing was overlooked by the great golden lion. As he breathed in deeply of the fresh Narnian air, he felt someone come up to his side. Looking to his left, he noticed his brother. Ed, always the serious one in dark clothes, always the one offering sage advice if it was needed or he knew it was needed. He had been a fantastic king to rule beside, and Peter could imagine no one better; not even his friend Caspian could take his brother's place.

"So, we are home, then," Edmund said calmly, taking in his surroundings.

"Yes, it appears we are, brother." Peter could not help but smile. He wanted to run, run like he had when he'd been a young Narnian King, before he'd learnt to temper his youthful nature with austere magnificence to keep dignitaries and foreign ambassadors from believing him insane.

"I think we have finally found what we have been searching for all our lives in England," Edmund remarked, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he beheld the land rolling away from them and the sky above them.

"I thought so, too. But now, oh, looking, truly _looking_ at this now, I believe we have found something _greater_." Peter closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, unable to not smile.

"Yes." Edmund looked over at his brother and nodded in agreement.

"Oh, let's run!" Peter exclaimed, before sprinting down the shallow hill to the others. Edmund laughed and followed.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I know, a little Ed-centric and Peter OOC, but I was going for a more by-the-book approach. I just wrote it for fun. I promise I'll try to do more than just Edmund, but for some reason I've got a lot of quotes that fit him *shrugs*. **


	14. Editing

**"The best way to lie is to tell the truth. Carefully edited truth."**

* * *

Edmund stalked through the halls of Cair, carefully walking on the section of marble floor that was not carpeted in plush rugs. He grabbed up his cape to keep it from brushing a tapestry as he walked passed. He closed his eyes as he made it the last few feet to the corridor that would led to his chambers. Now, if he could just avoid–

"Edmund! What in the name of all things good and pure are you doing?"

He winced, hunching his shoulders as Susan's voice rang out behind him. Slowly, he turned around.

"Well, you see, I…" he stopped talking, watching his sister's face go from motherly concern to unmasked disbelief.

"How did you get wet like that? How did your trousers become so dirty? However did you manage to break a leaf from your crown? And your cape, it has a tear in it as long as Oreius' tail!" Susan declared, still staring with wide eyes and slight confusion.

"I was riding, and you see, Night did not take a jump, I was not expecting him to stop, but he did, so I ended up in the marsh-water. When I stood, I accidentally caught my cape on a dead tree limb, tearing it. I was just going to get changed, you know. And I was careful to not get anything on the carpets!" He assured, going back the way he'd come, fixing to turn the corner and go down the hall.

"Well, thank you for being that considerate," Susan replied slowly. Edmund dashed around the corner and slumped against the smooth stone wall.

"Brilliant, Ed! Brilliant to blame the dumb horse!" Phillip cheered encouragingly from where he stood, looking just as foul as the young king.

His mane had marsh grass in it, mud patched his copper coat in some places, his saddle was oddly tilted, and his bridle was askew. A bit of dark cloth hung from the pommel, where Edmund's cape had caught and torn.

"I also wouldn't have thought of the dead limb bit, either!" The Horse added as Edmund leaned against him to finish walking down the corridor.

"Well, Phillip, remember this: the best way to lie is to tell the truth. Carefully edited truth!" Edmund remarked sagely.

"I shall have a scribe write that down and place it in my stall!" Phillip agreed.

"Just as long as she doesn't know what we were _really_ doing…" Edmund added thoughtfully, opening his door. Phillip whinnied in agreement.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I know, more Eddy! But I just love the kid, I really don't know why every quote I have seems to fit him :) *shrugging sheepishly***

**I thought this quote was hilarious, though, and that Edmund would have said something like it, and of course I just had to involve Phillip in whatever it was. **


	15. Deaf & Dumb

**"If we get caught remember, you're deaf and I don't speak Engl… er, Narnian."**

* * *

"Would you _stop_?" Edmund hissed trying to keep his balance as Phillip tripped over some of the marsh beneath his hooves.

"Don't blame me for this terrible terrain!" Phillip retorted in annoyance, muttering under his breath about ingrates and stubborn kings. "Whose brilliant idea was this anyway? Who thought it would be genius to get some marsh mud to put in the Prince's bedclothes – or, or in his food?" Phillip pointed out, tossing his head a little bit.

"Oh, just shut up," Edmund muttered, dropping the reins and crossing his arms.

"I still say we should have asked the Marshwiggles for an eel or something scarier. Then Rabadash would be certain to never show his disgustingly handsome dark looks around Cair again, flirting with your sister," Phillip remarked, skirting a dark body of water which he knew might be a dangerous hole.

"Do you want me to say this was a bad idea; because so far the whole scheme has gone swimmingly!" Edmund declared, his loud voice startling some marsh birds.

"Please, keep your voice _down_; do we want the whole of Narnia to know what we're doing?" Phillip reprimanded.

"Oh, they'd all thank me; even Susan, if she didn't think Rabadash "_so handsome_!"" Edmund responded, imitating his sister with great exaggeration. "If we _do_ get caught, you're deaf, and I don't speak Engl– Narnian," Edmund declared hurriedly before staring down at the murky water under Philip's hooves looking for just the right color of mud; the same color as Rabadash's tanned skin.

"Fine, fine! Now, how dark is the little scarab again?" Phillip mumbled, also looking at the ground.

So intent were they in their quest that they failed to notice –

"Phillip!" Edmund made a desperate grab for the reins.

"Whahhht!" Phillip whinnied in surprised, jerking his head up and the reins from Edmund's grasp.

Yes, the slant of the marsh they had been on. Downhill Phillip slid, with Edmund trying to keep from falling out of the saddle. Phillip dug in his hooves near the base of the slope, splattering mud flecks all over his coat. Edmund, expecting the stop but not really expecting it, grabbed at anything near him: Phillip's mane, the reins, nevertheless it was useless.

With a cry of frustration and indignation, he fell from the saddle, a terrific tearing noise behind him as he landed in the murky, muddy water of the marsh beside the Horse. Phillip craned his head to look at Edmund.

"You look _awful_," he noted with surprise, staring at his friend who was now kneeling knee-deep in marsh.

"You aren't so lovely to stare at either," Edmund retorted, splashing his hands in the water with annoyance at their predicament. How in the world would he keep Susan from knowing about this?

"Well, I, um, suggest we retreat to Cair and regroup tomorrow with further plans?" Phillip suggested after a long lapse of silence while each one thought.

"Yes, I suppose we should." Edmund stood unsteadily, trying to keep from falling. As he nearly went down again, Phillip jutted his head out, letting Edmund grab his bridle. Edmund pulled the whole thing askance on his friend's face, but Phillip and he both hurriedly agreed not to bother about it; they just wanted to get out of there.

Edmund ignored the fact that the pommel of the saddle had torn a long rent in his cape, no thanks to Phillip's teeth, either. "Just remember, if we're caught by _anyone_, you're deaf and I don't speak Narnian," Edmund muttered through gritted teeth, trying to prevent the muddy water dripping off his hair from getting in his mouth.

"I pray that we do not run into anyone we know or who knows us," Phillip answered, peering around the open marsh cautiously.

"_So do I_." Edmund sighed, letting Phillip take them home.

* * *

**A/N: Since everyone wanted to know just what Edmund and Phillip had been doing that caused them to become so filthy in the last drabble, here it is! Yes, Edmund had been planning something truly Edmund-ishly diabolical with Phillip in regards to Prince Rabadash (who would be about seventeen in this time-setting). **

**I like the idea that he never cared for Rabadash much, and later, after the Battle of Anvard, did not let anyone forget how he had always been right about the Prince and they wrong. Just something I see him doing.**

**Thanks to all of you who have reviewed and Favorited this; I can't thank you enough!**

**WH**


	16. But You Do

**"In life, you meet people.  
Some you never think about again.  
Some, you wonder what happened to them.  
There are some you wonder if they ever think about you.  
And then– there are some you wish you never had to think about again.  
But… You… Do…"**

* * *

Susan nodded, letting the Calormene prince kiss her hand and bow to her, before moving on to the next noble, albeit much more lesser in status than the Prince, but far more dear to her because this woman had been her friend for many years. She was not to know until several years later how important that prince would become in her life, nor how dangerous…

"Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers, they're all– gone." Lucy stared at her with overwhelming pain in her blue eyes, trying to look strong and be the brave, valiant queen she had been, instead of the heartbroken little girl she had become again.

As they sat around the campfire with Trumpkin, and when they were rowing in the boat, she never once thought of Rabadash. But she did wonder what had become of Lady Sabine, the woman she had brushed over the Calormene to greet.

**~o0o~**

It had been a little less than a year, and Susan had believed herself quite over the romance with Caspian, she now thought of him as a friend, though memory was starting to fade; try as she might to remember. But that happened, she knew sadly; once you could no longer see something daily, the mind started to forget exactly what it looked like, or appeared, or was. Occasionally, when she talked to Lucy or sent Peter a letter, she would pause and think about the King and his faraway land that he ruled.

She wondered if he had come to think of their relationship as close friendship like she now did, and she wondered if he had found someone better than she to give his heart to. Then, there were other times she simply thought of him without warning; pondering of he ever just thought about her for no reason at all, simply just thought. But it was a good feeling, and sometimes she smiled

**~o0o~**

They were gone… Alberta had called her, her voice high with fear and anxiety, her words punctuated by sobs. Her aunt had told her about the train wreck, she and Harold had been listening to the radio while Susan had been out shopping for new paper and pens for Edmund's legal office that he shared with Peter. At first came the shock, and then the small voice in the back of her mind that reasoned she had prepared herself for this nearly twenty years ago in Narnia when her siblings would go on campaigns into the North or when Edmund went into the Wild to keep back the Westmen there.

When she had known they would surround her every day, encouraging her to remember Narnia, she had allowed exact memories to slip and fade with time, knowing they, her lovely, wonderful siblings, would always be there to help her remember, even if she said she couldn't. But before they had left for Polly and Digory's, they had not parted as friends. They had quarreled.

She had been forced into a shopping engagement by Alberta that she could not miss before the invitations to attend Polly's dinner arrived, and Peter had pushed her and urged her to drop it once they'd received them, telling her it wasn't more important than Narnia and seeing old friends. She had told him that yes, Narnia was important, and always would be, but she could not go back on her word to a woman that was family and whom they hardly ever saw more than three times a year.

Then conversation had turned to Narnia, and she had wanted to be in that moment as harsh and cutting as she possibly could, so she had told him that Narnia was all in his head, just a '_fairy story they had dreamt up as children'_ to _'forget the war because they were in a lovely place'_ and that he _'was delusional if he could possibly believe that silly old stories she knew backwards and forwards were better than shopping for a new gown that she had saved months for.'_

He had shouted back that _'oh she really thought that, did she?' _and had stormed off to the living room to wait for Edmund to arrive. She had gone back to the kitchen to finish up supper before they left and before Alberta arrived. But when Edmund and Lucy arrived, Peter got them involved in the fight too. Edmund told her that she _'shouldn't let lipstick, boys, parties and clothes lead her away from Narnia'_ and Lucy had urged her to believe that _'Narnia was for those who grew up different then old gossips or silly party girls.'_

So they had all separated in an angry, uncomfortable muddle; each too stubborn to admit that they could all be right to a small degree or that they were all wrong and had said many cruel, unfeeling remarks to one another.

Now she could not ask forgiveness, she could not apologize like she had planned once they'd returned that evening; because they never would. Oh, dear God how she wanted to forget them! But she couldn't, as hard as she tried over the years, even after attending their funerals, marrying, and having children and grandchildren and telling bedtime stories to her great grandchildren, she could not. They only were omitted from conversation and occasionally left out of conversation, but they never seemed to quite fade from memory.

Her great grandchildren had been playing in her living room one afternoon because her granddaughter, Jenny, had brought them over while she went off on a business meeting with her manager to talk about the book she wanted published. As she finished drying the last of the dishes in the sink, she noticed it was very quiet. With a small frown coming over her aged but still fair features, she walked into the living room to see what was going on – they were very creative children, perhaps they'd decided to play a game of 'Narnia' that she often told them stories of.

But when she entered the room, she found all four of them, Jackie, Paul, Rose and Martin, seated on the couch silently and slowly flipping through an album, several more on the coffee table before them. She smiled, watching them point and whisper as they looked at old black and whites from a time long passed. Then, her heart nearly stopped when she realized the pictures they were looking at.

Memories flooded back as she watched them slowly turn a page with pictures of Edmund standing beside Peter in front of their law office, and pictures of Lucy with Eustace and Jill; the latter two in their Narnian clothes before Eustace had buried his and Jill stored hers away in an attic trunk. Slowly, she came over to the children, taking the book from Paul with a smile and asking if they'd like to have her explain who these people were, and why Granna had tears in her eyes.

Smilingly, she told them who they were, and they laughed at her stories, though Martin, the youngest, was rather quiet. After the others left, Martin stayed. He had always been a quiet boy, and Susan thought him quite like Edmund. When she asked him what was wrong, he had stood on the couch and wrapped his arms around her neck, holding on to her tightly. Smiling, she asked him what was wrong; he told her that it was all right to be sad, and that sometimes ''membering was okay because you needed to have good stuff as well as the sad.'

She hugged him then, cherishing his childish wisdom. So she whispered back to him, "I will think about them again." Martin smiled.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Well, I thought this would be an interesting twist on the Narnia "Susan forgets everything" angle. What if she hadn't forgotten? I always thought that Peter was a bit stiff and too angry when he said that Susan "no longer believed." **

**So, I was sitting here, dwelling on the idea that perhaps she and Peter got into an argument, and everyone just naturally took sides against her. Because I know that, as wonderful as writing is, and as amazing a world as it is, I can't spend every second of my time there, nor can I reflect over every step of my adventures to becoming the writer I am now. **

**Perhaps Susan knew this too and she and her siblings had a momentary falling-out over it, you know? Well, whatever you think, I just hope you enjoyed this, the quote belongs to Jack Lewis and so do the names Martin and Rose; I couldn't help it. :) Well, R&amp;R,**

**WH **


	17. Similarity & Contrast

**_They laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at them because they're all the same._**

* * *

Peter walked through the halls of Hendon House with long, purposeful strides. It had been only a few days since they'd returned from Narnia, and he had decided to keep to himself, since some of the learning – English, Mathematics, the Sciences – he had already learnt and were not that difficult to master; making him something of a freak to the other boys who had been his friends before Narnia.

He studied a bit more, mainly History, since he was taught Lumean history and not England's or world history, and he answered a few more questions in class with rather detailed and complicated answers; once, he had even upstaged the teacher by correcting him on how to do a mathematics problem.

He had also found that if he practiced, he could regain most of his arm and upper body strength that he'd acquired in Narnia when he had just become king. It wasn't as much as his adult counterpart, but it was enough to feel that he had some sort of control over his life again; that he could make sense of his life again. He paused in his walk down the hall when he heard someone snicker.

"Who was that?" he asked, looking at the other boys. Donald grinned, before laughing freely. "Why are you laughing?" Peter asked, a small smile coming to his face. Several other boys, nervous when Pevensie had started talking to them, began chuckling again at the joke Donald had told them.

"You!" Donald pointed at Peter. He laughed once more, before speaking between gasps of air. "You're… so odd! And… the fellows… we couldn't help… but joke about it!"

Peter began laughing as well. He laughed so happily and so completely that all the others stopped and stared at him. Suddenly Peter straightened and a serious look replaced the merriment.

"You laugh at me because I'm different. I _am_ different, I cannot deny it." Peter gestured to himself as he spoke, nodding in agreement. "But all of you… I laugh at you because you're all the same." He turned abruptly and walked away.

The other boys looked at one another. They couldn't do anything to Pevensie because he hadn't done anything to them, and who wants to get suspension because they were mocking another fellow out?

"We're not… _really_ all the same… are we?" Freddie Lawrence looked at the other boys, and they all stared back, confounded.

"Come on lads, let's all go take a walk!" Donald broke in.

"Yes, a walk should be a good change!" All the boys followed Donald. Freddie stared after them for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders and running to catch up. They couldn't be the same. It wasn't possible. Besides, who wanted to be like _Pevensie_?

They all would when he graduated from University and was able to immediately become a lawyer and win several cases, his brother soon following him because they had agreed upon the occupation from the day they'd returned from the country. Many of the other boys did not get the jobs they had had in mind. In fact, Donald Struthers came to Peter several years later to ask advice for ending his contract as a Hendon House teacher. No one laughed at Peter or Edmund then, they were all just very grateful.


	18. Broken

**"It is in these moments of tender and ridiculous nostalgia that I know something inside of me is still broken."**

* * *

"Oh, and, and remember Cor with the –"

"Yes, yes!"

"And that time I fell into the pond!"

"Oh, yes, that was quite the embarrassment!"

Peter smiled, watching his siblings, Polly, Digory, Jill, Eustace, and the Star, Gavan, as they talked about life in Narnia or some adventure they'd had there. His end of the conversation had faded off and his silence went unnoticed as the others laughingly talked about times' past. His memories were no less fond, but perhaps much more private.

_"I know it is perhaps ridiculous, but I love them so much!" She leaned against his chest and he could feel her heartbeat. He reached up, covering her hand on his shoulder with his own, resting his cheek against her soft hair. He smiled, raising his eyes to look at their children sleeping in the room before them._

_"I do think I understand how you feel. Any parent feels such for their children or child." _

"Peter, Peter! Are you with us or in Narnia?" Edmund grinned at his brother, a curly wing of dark hair falling over his forehead. Peter pulled himself from the memories and grinned back, perhaps a bit absently, though no one in the room noticed.

"Sorry, I was just remembering that time we visited Tashbaan and met Rabadash for the first time. I do believe the look on his face was the funniest thing I'd seen since becoming King!" Peter laughed, adding his opinions or memories occasionally to the conversation, careful to not drop out of it all together as he just had. But his memories reminded him that this world was not home, and that he would never feel completed until he had his wife by his side once more.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Slightly Peter-centric, I suppose. But I felt that I had to do something for him; it's been a while since I wrote his as a main character of anything. I can't thank everyone enough for all the reviews! It has been fantastic reading such positive words from ya'll! It really keeps me going when I feel like taking a long repose. It _is_ nice knowing you have people looking forward to something you write, I do think. **

**WH **


	19. Pages

**"There comes a time when you have to choose between turning the page and closing the book."**

Edmund wrote out all the information he could think of; busily scribbling out legible handwriting as they drove down the London street. He penned a period mark, and hesitated. He had reached the bottom of the right-handed page; should he continue or leave the book as it was? He started to turn to Peter for advice, but stopped, staring down intently at the page full of his writings.

He had written everything, down to explaining what they were hoping to be able to do. Should he really turn the page and go on? No, he finally decided, setting down his pen slowly on the seat beside himself. He looked over at Peter, who was driving. "Could we please stop? I do believe I'm going to put these in the post after all." He looked away from his brother and began meticulously packaging the volumes of his writings; pulling a two-page letter from his inside his coat and sliding it into the first volume before sealing the package.

"'Course, whatever you'd like." Peter glanced from the road momentarily to smile over at his brother. Edmund caught the look and flashed a grin in return.

"Thanks, Pete."


	20. Book Collecting

**_"Book collecting is an obsession, an occupation, a disease, an addiction, a fascination, an absurdity, a fate. It is not just a hobby…" – Jeanette Winterson_**

* * *

"Be careful, Peter!" Edmund dashed forward, stopping his brother from entering his dorm room by slamming the door in his face. For sixteen minutes, Peter was forced to stand outside his brother's door in the hall while Edmund Pevensie rearranged his books so he could open it. Peter waited, and hearing no movement inside the room, knocked with just a casual hint of hesitancy.

"Might I be admitted now, brother?" he asked, trying to sound light. It was his misfortune that he had come for a visit when his brother was borrowing books from the library for study, buying books from shops, and "salvaging" books from the rubbish bins. Edmund always did that every second and fourth Saturday of the month, how could he have forgotten? He used to do it as often as he could at home during the Hols, but Mum had put a stop to that…

"Of course, just be careful around the books, now!" Edmund shouted from within the room, not even bothering to open the door for his brother after slamming it in his face.

Peter entered, removing his fedora and hefting his overcoat into the crook of his arm as he slid through the door, hesitant to open it all the way even now. Ducking in, silently closing the door, he looked around the room. Edmund was busily going about something at his desk in front of the window, and a lively fire was snapping in the hearth, in front of which a small table bore a tray of tea and biscuits.

And, as usual on this day, there were books on everything, even the bed. And, just as naturally, there was a good four-foot space between the hearth and the towers of books; Eddie and his books. The Just King would never change, Peter decided with a small grin and shake of his head. "So, whereabouts did you acquire…" Peter picked up one of the objects and read the title, "the… Homer's **_Iliad_**? Where in the world; Ed, now, you aren't taking these things from people's private libraries, are you?" he jested lightly, setting the book back down on its stack.

"Of course not, you idiot, I got that from a little shop down the way, about to be thrown into the lot to go to… wherever it is they destroy books, I suppose. I have someone who wants an Iliad, so don't worry, it won't be going on the shelf with the others." Edmund referred to the bookcase back home filled with books that he had extras of.

"Why do you do this, Edmund?" Peter asked, settling down on the arm of a chair as that was the only space free. His brother glanced up at him from his writing, a smudge of dust on his face and his dark hair ruffled and messy. "I mean, why don't you write something yourself instead of wasting time saving all these decrepit books? It's a dreadful hobby, and I've heard that some of the fellows here are starting to talk," Peter added, the look of concern coming to his face that annoyed Edmund considerably.

"Book collecting is _not_ a _hobby_, Peter! It's– it's my obsession, as yours was the war for so many years!" Edmund jumped up, taking a stack of unorganized books and redoing them so that they all stood in proper order. Peter watched curiously.

"It's an occupation, as yours was being the head of a country!" Edmund picked up five books with jerky motions, only to set them down carefully placed on a shelf in the corner. A trace of a smile came to Peter's face as he turned a bit in his seat to watch his brother better.

"It's something of a disease, by the way, and I have no cure!" Edmund ranted, rolling his eyes as he put different books in different stacks and then made a new stack.

And…" He shook his head back and forth a bit with a half-frown on his face, as if reluctant to admit something, "it's sort of an addiction that I don't know how to overcome." He grabbed a biscuit from the plate on the tray and wolfed it down before reaching for a pen and paper and marking something down on the page. Peter's ghost-smile widened.

"It's a fascination; I cannot get over all the different versions and all the stories between their pages!" He whirled back to his brother, holding a book open long enough for Peter to read ". . . _Hell is empty and all the devils are here . . ._" before it was pulled away again. Edmund paused, half-bent over a stack of books, thinking for a moment. "It's totally and completely absurd, I know. But it's a fate, my fate." He smiled slightly– happily, amusedly.

After doing some more fiddling with a pile of books on his bed, he returned to his seat at the desk with a contented sigh, slouching down and looking around in satisfaction before meeting his brother's blue eyes with his brown. Edmund Pevensie was pleased to be in his element: surrounded by books. "Book collecting is never a _hobby_." He shuddered as he said the word, as if it were a swearword or something.

"I see," Peter remarked simply. Edmund's eyes found the fire in the hearth and he noticed it was looking in need of stoking. He jumped from his chair and went over to it. Hand resting on the mantelpiece, eyes staring intently into the fire as he prodded the logs with a poker, he muttered absently, "And besides, I've already tried writing stuff about stuff, it wasn't very good. I end up writing about Narnia, usually."

"Really? Whatever did you write about?" Peter stood suddenly, a keen, interested light coming into his eyes. Edmund glanced over at him.

"I don't think you'll want to read it, its bloody poor." He tried to shrug off what he'd just admitted doing.

"But you've written about _Narnia_?" Peter asked curiously.

"Yes," Edmund answered.

"I think I _do_ want to see it." Peter cracked a half-smile, eyes sparking.

"Well all right then," Edmund allowed in rapid succession, jumping over a short wall of books and reaching under his bed. He pulled out a stack of paper with a pen atop it. Peter snickered under his breath.

"Don't judge the quills; it's the only way I can write of Narnia. Like I used to," he added, staring off fondly. Then he shook his head to pull himself out of the memory and thrust some pages at Peter. "You asked for it, so read," he demanded.

The two brothers stood there in the room as the light outside the window dimmed and evening came on. Edmund rested one elbow in the palm of his other hand and supported his chin on his fist as he watched his brother read with baited breath. The lamps were lit down in the square of the college dorm when Peter finally lowered the pages to look back at Edmund. Silence reigned, and Edmund did not ask his brother's opinion. He knew he must wait.

"Well…" Peter's voice was hoarse, as if he were trying to hold back tearful emotions. He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand across his mouth before speaking again. "Well, that was… wonderful, Ed– magical. I- I remember this part of Narnia again," he admitted, glancing down at the papers once more. As he bent over the pages, Edmund watched him, and a soft smile came to his face as he studied his brother. The pages he had given Peter had been about their coronation, and about the High King.

"Good," he whispered.

Peter looked up. "Oh, Ed, I miss it! I miss our home!" An agonized, distressed light came into his blue eyes, and Edmund hugged his brother. And Peter hugged his little brother back, in a room filled to bursting with books, because among books was where the Just King belonged. Always.

* * *

**A/N: **

**This was completely unexpected, and just came up. For some reason, however, I kept seeing Edmund as doing Sherlock quirks. I don't know, just think of Sherlock BBC as you read, lol. **

**I think it was a nice brother moment between Edmund and Peter, however, and decided I should post it to DQfN, since I haven't posted any new chapters to this lately, forgive me! I have no idea where he would get the money to pay for these books, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with Digory Kirke.**

**It's reasonable that Edmund would be selling/giving away these books he salvages to people, as a shortage of paper during this time-period meant not a let of books were printed. So, there's some sense to that. Also, I managed to get two quotes in this chapter, since the "Hell is empty and all the devils are here" is by Shakespeare.**

**That quote sort of gives a double-meaning to this chapter, because it's a nod to my story _Forbidden Desires_, which centers around a Dark!Edmund. Anyway, please R&amp;R, **

**WH **


	21. Rememberance

**"What we do for ourselves dies with us – what we do for others remains, and is, immortal." ~ Unknown**

* * *

No one will remember the time he hid because he was too tired of killing to keep going, so he allowed his troops to finish them off.

No one will remember the time she yelled and screamed because they made her go to bed at a proper time instead of letting her stay up all night to celebrate the New Year.

No one will remember the time when he told his oldest brother to "just shut up" because he wasn't finished speaking his piece yet.

No one will remember the time she smacked him because his words were far too close to the truth and they cut like a knife.

No one would ever remember the times when they acted like – _were_ – children, or merely acting like themselves.

What _will be_ remembered was how magnificent he looked at the head of his military, and how he slew five hundred that day; how he encouraged his men and brought them home joyful and victorious.

It will be recounted long after she vanished how alert she was the next morning; valiantly stopping spies from invading Cair and overthrowing their monarchy.

Everyone will remind the other how just he was that day in court, giving council to the dignitaries and ambassadors.

Everyone will remember the many suitors pledging their hands to her and how she was gentle to them; artfully refusing every single proposal in a manner making them believe her still nothing more than a gentle, delicate lily.

What they did as fallible humans was omitted by purposeful accident, so that they would remain The Great Four; rulers beyond compare. What they did selfishly as humans died with them, but what they did for others– that was immortal for all time.

* * *

**A/N: I've been tidying up my files on my USB drives, and I found this document. I can't remember if I've posted it before, so if I have, please let me know! :) Happy reading, (please review) **

**WH**


	22. Graveside

**_"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal;  
love leaves a memory no one can steal." ~ Unknown_**

* * *

The gravesmen slowly began taking shovelfuls of dark earth and dropping it down over the coffins. She blinked, for in her mind she railed against such foolishness as burying. Where were the funeral pyres? Where were the scented oils, the torches, and the ocean breeze? Where were the mourners, the wailers and sorrowful windwoods echoing on the air? What was this rubbish called a gravesite? It was a pathetic thing; middling and not worthy of honor and the place of value it had been given! How could you put kings and a queen in a filthy _hole_ and call it respectful for the dead? But then she blinked, and the strange dream was lifted from her eyes.

She had insisted on remaining behind to watch the dirt be placed over the coffins, she remembered now. Soon the cemetery would be closing though, and she would be asked to leave. But she couldn't. Not yet. There was one thing more she simply had to do before she left them here; sundered from one another forever. Finally, at last, the diggers finished, and she was shown out. But once they'd gone, she crept back in, before the gates were closed. It felt childish suddenly.

But she tossed away her common sense with the light evening breeze that had sprung up. And finally, just as the first stars were beginning to emerge in the slowly darkening sky, she was standing beside the freshly-dug graves. It was dark earth for now, but soon it would be grass. She knelt, burying her fingers deep into the English soil, squeezing it between her fingers with trembling desperation. And then the stark, sharp reality of it all seemed to burden her and she gasped quickly.

"Oh_. Oh, oh, oh_!"

It was too soon after the war to be burying bodies again, she recalled the gravesmen whispering when they thought she wasn't listening but was lost in grief. How right they were, she knew. A cry ripped through her, threatened to come out, but she pushed it down. Suddenly she was on her knees; ruining her stockings and her heels and her dress, but she was beyond caring for such frivolities.

"I can't believe it! I _won't_! No, _no_! How can you be gone from me? I haven't apologized, and you _always_ let me apologize, Peter! Peter, do you hear me? I haven't apologized yet, you _cannot_ _do_ this; this is _not_ how we have done things in the past, my brother!" she whispered fiercely, her shaking fingers tightening into dirty fists against the fresh earth as a cool wind blew around her, mussing her hair.

And then the dream returned again. Her hands in dirt, as they were now, and a high yet soft and lilting voice saying dirt was life, not for putting the dead beneath. It was a hazy dream; she couldn't properly remember who had said such things, but it was not this in morbid land so filled with hate and decay and ruin and death that she'd been when those wise words were spoken.

"Ah, Edmund, you underestimated the pain of loss. Tis not so simple as you wrote, my wise one. I am sadly lacking, and my wanting is laid clear. Oh, where do these strange notions come from?" She questioned her unusual speech as she knelt fully in the dirt of Peter's grave plot. "Lu, how I wish I had your strength to uphold me now! My darling, I am so frightfully alone; I hope you are in better lands now, like those stories you so wished were truth."

"How can this be reality? It is surely nothing but a gruesome dream. Oh, wake up!" she scolded herself, but her tears came fast and her sobs felt as if they broke her. She bent, resting her forehead on the earth, wishing she could have her older brother just once more to tell her all would be well. But she didn't, and only the evening wind stroked her cheek as she knelt atop the freshly dug grave.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Here's another something I found. I'm sorry it's so sad; but I just seem to have tragedy in my blood, for I write it surprisingly well. I even had a few notes on this vignette! Something about how the quote fits her flashbacks of Narnia. The person she remembers talking about dirt and etc. was Lilygloves the chief Mole, and that was supposedly a memory from then they were planting the orchard. **

**J (guest): You review was so sweet! I don't know how sweet this little vignette is though, unfortunately. **

**WH**


	23. Bells

**Bells**

_**"And so the bells are silent,  
They'll ne'er ring again.  
But if they do I know,  
They'll ne'er sound the same."**_

* * *

Bells were used to herald the arrival of glad tidings and sorrowful news.

Small, round bells also hung from Topaz' golden collar, which the noble unicorn wore to show his fealty to the Four Thrones. Since he was a creature and not some human-like being, the unicorn couldn't accept a medal to show his knighthood or wear a helm to display his loyalty to the Narnian crest. So Peter, as friend first and king second, ordered the golden collar fashioned, and hung with bells; for the unicorn seemed to fancy the ornaments for a reason unbeknownst to the High King.

The sound of bells as the last of the daylight died was what the tall blond king of Narnia yearned to hear now, as he stood beside a fire roaring on the rocky slopes of the Northlands where Giants roamed. The greater part of Narnia's army was with him, come to defeat the rebellious Giants and then hope for peace to follow.

He stood on the cliffs of uneven stone and waited, hoping to hear the bells on his friend's collar.

He yearned to catch sight of the pale unicorn, but the ring of small bells echoing up canyon walls did not come, and the sun slipped down below the horizon, casting all in deep shadow.

Topaz did not come.

And the High King's heart grew heavy with knowing.

Golden gilt collars and small golden bells would have different meaning in his eyes from this day hence.

Topaz would not come again.

* * *

**A/N: Just a little piece I'd originally written for the Narnian Holiday Prompt Contest but discarded because it was vague and a little too tragic; not to mention it had no mention of Christmas. I have no idea what the true name of Peter's unicorn in the LWW film was, so I called him Topaz (since C.S. Lewis calls the only unicorn he mentions 'Jewel'.) **

**WH **


End file.
